Stars Through the Roof Slats
by JAMonMyToast
Summary: “And there has to be a barn. That’s old enough you can see the stars through the roof-slats when you lay on your back. And antique tools to look at when you roll over.” Angela wonders if she will ever forget the stars. One-shot based on that quote.


I saw this weeks episode and was taken aback by Angela describing her wedding location. Dwangela one-shot, anyone? Anyways, it made me really sad. I hope you like this one.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

_She was never the type to lay on her back, looking at the sky. She didn't really dream and living in the now didn't give her a sense of inner peace._

_His breathing made goosebumps spring from her arm, but she was breathing just as heavily. He reached over, pulling the blanket up higher on her shoulders, letting his arms lay across her waist. __**(She sometimes wishes he didn't have that sort of effect on her.)**_

_He smiled at her lacy, modest, hastily-unbuttoned top that she still wore, a creamy white shoulder exposed. _

_He'd always been turned on at the thought of being to one to unwind the chaste, modest woman, and the usually work-appropriate top that now revealed all heightened his thoughts. _

_She knew he liked it that she had a nice body to show off, but at work nobody got to see her the way he did. She was properly covered and appropriate. He was the prileged one._

_She rolled over on to her back, so she wasn't facing him anymore. He stayed in his position, an arm still around her, not wanting to stop looking at her. He knew she was looking at the stars, though. __**(She hopes it won't be over soon.)**_

"_You know, I like this. Seeing the stars through the roof slats. It's nice." _

_He thinks to himself that it's just the type of thing she would like, and suddenly he stops thinking about someday fixing the roof. **(She's got him wrapped around her finger.)**_

_She almost expects him to say something, but knows he won't, he isn't the type to say anything. _

_Dwight, surprisingly, likes silence. Maybe not all the time, when they lay here like this, he likes it. __**(Because when it's too loud out here, you can't hear the wind chimes.)**_

_The only thing he likes more than silence is the sound of her voice, so she keeps talking._

"_It'll be too bad, you know. When it gets cold, we can't do this. We'll freeze." He admires the gaps in her words, the way she doesn't watch what she says around him. He likes both Angelas. Work Angela, and Angela-who-just-had-sex-with-him-in-his-old-barn._

_Her eyes are watching the stars, and her nose can find the scent of the farm. Not beets, not manure. It's the smell she feels on her skin when he hugs her and she has a full minute to breathe him in. __**(A minute is never long enough.)**_

_She sighs, and rolls over. Her eyes settle on the antique farm equipment. It frames his face, which her eyes settle on. _

_Angela idly wonders if sex with Dwight in a barn so old you can see stars through the roof slats was ever her fantasy._ _**(It's definitely a fantastic reality.)**_

"This tent is awesome. And it's in really high demand, so I think we should put down our deposit now."

Her head drifted to the side, almost bored.

"Okay, fine. You can have your tent. But only if it's in a field." She surprised herself with those words, they weren't supposed to come out. But after she started, she couldn't stop. "A hand-plowed field."

"Done. And dunner." He was so sure of himself, she wanted to punch him in his egotistical face. Instead, she kept on describing Shrute Farms.

"And there has to be a barn. That's old enough you can see the stars through the roof-slats when you lay on your back. And antique tools to look at when you roll over."** (Angela wonders if she will ever forget the stars.)**

She stared at something, anything, at her desk, but her thoughts were wistful and her eyes sad. He didn't pick up on it.

"Did you have a specific place in mind?"

Yes.

"No. But anything within a five-to-eight mile radius is acceptable."

"On it!"

She gets back to work and does not ask herself why on earth she's still going through with this. **(She never asks herself those things lately.)**

Later, when Dwight promises to cater to their exact expectations, saying he'll work tirelessly for them, she smiles a little, trying to hide the suppressed passion making her insides shiver with those damn goosebumps he springs on her skin.

When she's at her desk and Andy's harassing her again, asking about maybe coming to his place tonight, she says no.

And Angela doesn't even cry.

Not one little bit.

**(She hates tears.)**

This time, I want reviewers or I'll seriously consider not writing any more Dwangela stories. Got it? Mmkay.


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